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Bravye stood with great reluctance. It was true that women had been called to speak before the Moot before, but those had always been extraordinary situations. Matters important enough to be brought before the Moot were outside the realm a woman could be expected to be able to bear up under, and so they would be spared the burden. Only when a woman’s witness was so crucial to a matter that a male relative could not speak for her was she brought forward personally.
She was not the only one reluctant to comply, however. She had scarcely gotten her feet under her when Gurney jumped up from where he sat.
“Preposterous!” he shouted. “We need not hear the words of this perverse creature to know that she is mad, and that she has broken the traditions that permit the smooth transfer of the wealth that makes us strong. Like it or not Kern is the heir. It is a settled matter.”
“It is not,” Grib responded, his voice cold. “An elder of this moot has asked what a woman can do, and she stands here, as living proof of what a woman can do.” Grib’s face turned towards where Bravye stood frozen in place. “She will speak to this matter before us. She is the only one that can.”
“A woman speaking on matters of industry before this Moot is unprecedented! It has never happened before!”
Grib turned back to Gurney, and when he spoke his voice was sarcastic. “We are well aware of what the word ‘unprecedented’ means, Elder.” Turning to look at the entire audience he moderated his tone. “Elders of the Moot. One of our number has asked a question we have the opportunity to answer, here and now. Would it not be an insult to his authority to leave his question unanswered? Would any of you be the one to deny him his right to question? Elder,” his eyes locked on the old dwarf who had asked the question. “Would you permit any of us to deny you that right?”
There was a sharp stillness in the air as even the onlookers waited with baited breath. The old man slowly rose to his feet, his eyes sweeping the assembled elders. No one spoke. Finally, with a brief glare at Grib for putting him in this position, he turned to lock his eyes on Bravye. “I will hear the woman’s answer.”
Grib turned to face Bravye again, and his voice emphasized each word. “I call Bravye, wife of Blaistrupe, of the family of Greywalk, to address this matter.”
She could hear the quiet murmurs of stunned conversations behind her as she turned to step past Kern. The feeling of every eye in the Moot made her shoulderblades itch. She wished she could pull out her flask and moisten the sudden dryness in her throat, but sensed that somehow this was not the time.
Reaching the dais, she turned so that she was facing Grib. The usual kindness in his face was replaced with a stern mask, the wrinkles and crags that told of a lifetime of work made fierce through the stiffness. She swallowed against the dry lump in her throat.
“Bravye.” Grib’s voice, pitched to carry to the assembly, felt loud and harsh when standing next to him. “How long has it been since Blaistrupe died?”
The question, asked so uncaringly, cut her in a way she had not expected. She felt a stinging in her eyes and a tightness in her chest, both of which she struggled to keep contained. “Nine months, Elder. Spring had just become summer when it happened.”
“Louder!” Grib demanded.
The barked command startled her, and even as the crowd muttered disapproval at a woman being treated so harshly she felt a wash of hot anger spill into her. She felt her chin come up and, and her voice strengthen. “Nine months, Elder.”
“And before that, how long had he been away from the foundry?”
“Four months, Elder. It has been a year since I saw him for the last time.”
“And in that time, was there a foreman at the factory?”
“For a time. He left shortly after the death of my husband.”
Grib stepped a little closer. “And why did he leave?”
She fought the urge to step back, and instead stood her ground. “He disagreed with my management of the foundry.”
Grib eyed her for a moment. “He objected to you, a mere woman, taking away his authority when your husband could not gainsay it?”
At the words,mere woman’ she felt something snap inside of her. She felt a grin she knew was a bad idea form, and her eyes locked on Grib. “He never had the authority to begin with. It was I, not he, that had been running the foundry since my husband left. Without my husband to appeal to for my replacement, it was he that could not bear the situation, not this mere woman!”
The best description for what happened next would be pandemonium. Throughout the amphitheatre some men were shouting for her immediate removal from the Moot while others vociferously made fun of the man that would fail where a woman didn’t. Elders were shouting at one another, while the Speaker struggled to restore order.
“SILENCE!” Grib bellowed. His voice cut through the din, and heads turned back to the dais as the volume of the crowd dropped significantly. Grib glared at the Elders and the onlookers behind them. “You will conduct yourselves as men of this clan, and not as some rabble!” Not finished, he turned on Bravye. “And you, woman, will watch your tongue.”
Bravye looked down at the floor of the platform. The anger that had led to her own outburst had faded away under Grib’s glare. Replacing it, however, was something far more cold, and even less contained.
“Watch my tongue?” She said, her voice just loud enough to be heard by the Elders. Their sudden stiffening was signal enough to the crowd behind them for a silence to suddenly wash over the amphitheatre. In that stillness she lifted her head, locking her eyes on Grib’s.
“Watch my tongue?” she repeated. “I will do no such thing. I stand here accused of damaging the war effort. It is claimed that my guidance of my husband’s foundry has been marked by fickleness and by a loss of productivity. It is my misfortune of having been born a woman that you all define as the root of this problem, through your laws, your traditions, and through your accusations.
“Are we, the people birthed by these mountains, who have been hardened through time to bear up under the hostility of nature itself, less than elves then?” She turned to face the assembled elders. “ARE WE?”
Gurney leaned forward from where he stood, hissing. “How dare you, woman!”
“How dare YOU,” she shouted back. Her hand pulled free from the fur of her coat, bringing out clippings from the newspapers Isoli had given her the night before. She waved them in the air. “These papers tell the story!
She brought the papers down so she could look at them. “Vintnerclan Harbor Seized By The Enemy!” she read. “Under the command of Countess Isleniya of the Principality of Greenfields, elven forces overwhelmed the gallant defenders of the harbor after a month long campaign!” She tossed the clipping aside.
“Clan Elder Slain In Battle! Elder Vignard of the Brownhops family has been killed in battle, according to dispatches freshly received from the field. He fell while directing an assault against elven forces under the command of Baronette Sylstraya, who previously had taken Sandkeep.” She tossed that paper aside as well.
“A surprising occurrence has occurred on the battlefield here of late. After a pitched battle resulting in high losses to both side, an elvish cavalrywoman delivered one of our wounded soldiers to pickets guarding the approach to our encampment. Evidently during the fighting both soldiers had become separated from their units and stumbled across an enraged bear. Abandoning their hostility they fought the bear, during which our man was wounded. In gratitude for his help she returned him to our forces rather than taking him prisoner in his weakened state.”
She dropped the stack of papers she still held, and looked directly at the elders. “Since the war began, most foundries have increased their production to half again what it was. Under my directions our foundry has doubled its production. We have outpaced the growth of every other clan to own foundries, and it has been my work that has done that.
“Elven women are triumphing on the field of battle, yet you accuse our women of being frail, incapable creatures. When you indict me for my sex, you indict our entire race of being unable to produce women the equal of those our foes birth.”
“Since the war began, most foundries have increased their production to half again what it was. Under my directions our foundry has doubled its production. We have outpaced the growth of every other clan that owns foundries, and it has been my work that has done that. And yet, with the evidence made clear by every delivery made to your factories, and from there to your sons in the field, you still ask what a woman is capable of.”
Propping her fists on her hips and staring out at the stunned faces of the elders, and the assembled witnesses behind them, Bravye shouted her defiance to the heavens. “I will show you what a woman is capable of! I will, show you what dwarven women are capable of! I will build an entire unit of women, paid for out of my own pocket, and armed with my steel, and I dare you to let our enemies see you admit that our women are less than theirs by denying me!”
The Moot went mad.
